


(Do I wanna know) If this feeling flows both ways

by ember_firedrake



Series: Stop the world (cause I wanna get off with you) [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Lapdance, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6493909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_firedrake/pseuds/ember_firedrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Flint is dragged to a strip club by Miranda, where he receives a lap dance from Long John Silver</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Do I wanna know) If this feeling flows both ways

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dee218](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee218/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Dee218](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee218/pseuds/Dee218) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> A birthday girl Miranda Barlow drags reluctant Flint to a strip club where he gets a lap dance from Silver. 
> 
> coNSIDER: 1.) Miranda/Flint besties, 2.) Silver being a shameless tease and loving every second of it, 3.) Silver grinding Flint who is clutching his seat with everything he has, 4.) dry fucking?, 5.) Silver perhaps making Flint come cause yas, 6.) Flint being unable to stop thinking about what happened, 7.) Flint maybe running into Silver in a local convenience store, almost not recognizing him in his sweats and a stupid print T-shirt, hair up in a messy bun, 8.) Flint being completely enamored wth this cheeky, witty, stupid bastard
> 
> \--
> 
> Title is from the Arctic Monkeys song of the same name

_It’s for Miranda_ , James Flint told himself as he wondered again how he’d allowed himself to be dragged out on an evening when he’d much rather be reading. He wasn’t fond of clubs. He didn’t like the noise or the loud music or—in this case—the idea of being surrounded by people shoving bills at attractive male dancers. Not that he was wholly opposed to the idea of being around attractive men, but, well...it was hardly an ideal environment to _meet people_. But it was Miranda’s birthday, and this was how she wished to spend it, and she was his closest friend.

"Come now, James," Miranda said, giving him an indulgent smile. "I asked you to join me, but there's no reason to look so sullen about it."

"Miranda, it's going to be a lot of cliched outfits and absurd routines and improbably waxed bodies," Flint pointed out. 

"Hence the appeal," Miranda said, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "The point is, it's supposed to be _fun_. At least try to enjoy it."

Flint laid his protests to rest, not wanting to spoil Miranda's enjoyment, at least. He took a seat beside her close to the stage, hoping that the loud music and atmosphere wouldn't give him a headache by the time the evening was over.

The lights dimmed as the emcee, a woman who introduced herself as Max, walked onto the stage. She announced names as dancers appeared onstage for their routines. Flint fought to keep his amusement at some of the nicknames from showing. Ben _Gunn_? Billy _Bones_? At least Miranda seemed to be enjoying herself, as she cheered on the admittedly very well-muscled dancer. At least the outfits weren't as cliched as Flint had expected. There wasn't a sexy fireman in sight. 

“Now, for your viewing pleasure,” Max announced in an accented voice, “Long John Silver.” 

Flint’s snort of mockery at the absurdity of the nickname caught in his throat upon actually seeing the man. It wasn't just his hair—luxurious dark curls that cascaded over his shoulders. It wasn't just his eyes—the most piercing blue Flint had ever seen and lined with dark eyeliner. It was everything, the lithe way he carried himself and the confidence in his expression and the clothes that clung to his body. 

Flint swallowed as his gaze travelled to those clothes. Silver wore a black vest with buttons down the front, which left his arms bare save for the leather bands at his wrists. There was a matching band at his neck. Flint felt his face heat as his eyes followed the line of Silver's body to his legs. He wore ankle-length unlaced combat boots, leather pants that clung to his thighs, with a codpiece over the crotch area. As part of his namesake, perhaps? The whole thing under any other circumstances ought to look ridiculous, but Flint let his eyes linger far too long on that obscene bulge. 

When he finally dragged his gaze back up, he was shocked to find Silver’s eyes locking with his. Silver smirked, sending heat pooling in Flint’s belly, then began his routine. Any hope of Flint’s to simply casually observe the proceedings was lost entirely. Silver turned in time with the music, revealing that the leather pants were more like chaps, displaying his bare ass for everyone in the audience to see. A thin strip of fabric rested between his butt cheeks, and Flint could feel his blush creeping down his neck as he stared. Around him, there were cheers, encouragements, but Flint seemed to hear it from very far away.

Silver turned to face forward again, his hands at the top button of the vest as his body moved in time with the music. He knew exactly how to play the crowd, letting the button slip free and gliding his long fingers down the vest front to the next button. Flint felt his own breath catching in his throat as he watched Silver’s fingers work, losing himself for a moment in thoughts of what other things those fingers might be good at. Surely, there was no harm in letting his mind dwell in fantasies. Miranda _did_ want them both to enjoy themselves, after all. 

The final button came loose. Silver rolled his shoulders, the vest parting and sliding down his arms to fall from his body. Flint never saw it hit the stage. He was staring, arrested by the sight of Silver’s bared chest. Secured to the leather band around his neck were fine chains that hung from it like jewelry, which draped over his torso in artful loops. The ends of two fine chains were secured to silver rings at his nipples. The entire thing created the effect of a delicate harness on his torso. 

And what a torso it was. With the vest still on, it had been difficult to tell anything about Silver’s muscle definition beyond his corded forearms and biceps. Now, Flint could tell that extended to the rest of him as well. Silver’s abdomen rippled as he rolled his body in sinuous motions, the fine chains following the movement. There were tattoos curling up near his hip bones, some sort of abstract floral design. 

The music’s rhythm pounded like a pulse within Flint’s head, but he could not be bothered to pay attention to notes or lyrics, too focused on Silver as he slowly sank to his knees. Silver arched back, thighs spread, his body taut, hair falling back from his head. He brought a hand forward to glide down the planes of his chest, the pads of his fingers catching on the fine chains of the harness and then moving over the muscles of his stomach, until his hand cupped his crotch. He thrust his hips upward into his cupped palm, rocking with the music, until Flint’s face burned so hot he forced himself to drag his gaze away. To Silver’s face. Where he could see Silver stared at him, eyes heavy as he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, winking as he bit down.

Flint’s breath left him in a rush. Surely, he must be imagining Silver’s focus. He pried his eyes away to glance briefly around him, but no, there could be no confusion. When he looked back, Silver’s gaze still hadn’t left him, and he gave an impish grin as his fingers caught on the edge of the codpiece and tore it away. 

Flint swallowed. Though Silver was covered, the black material of the thong stretched over his cock left _very_ little to the imagination. And Silver certainly lived up to his nickname. 

Silver went onto his hands and knees on the stage, advancing towards him, and Flint felt a hot jolt—part panic and part lust—run through him. He clenched the edge of his seat as Silver disembarked from the stage with a dancer’s grace, grip turning white-knuckled as Silver moved forward to straddle him. It all happened too quickly, one moment Silver was a safe viewing distance away and the next he was breathing Flint’s air, almost but not quite touching him as he rolled his hips into the space between their bodies. 

Flint let out a stuttered gasp of breath, his body aching with want. It would be so easy to hitch his own hips upwards, but he was fairly certain that sort of thing wasn't allowed. So instead he continued to grasp the sides of the chair, willing his body to remain still while Silver undulated above him. Flint was _certain_ Silver could see him blushing, and he was grateful his shirt collar hid how far that blush had crept down his torso. Those blue eyes bored into his, and Silver flicked his tongue out—christ, was that a _tongue piercing_? Flint could not help the unguarded groan that escaped him. 

The song ended, and Silver drew back. There was a flicker of... _something_ in his eyes, but it was there and gone too quickly for Flint to define. He was keenly aware of Silver’s absence, the room feeling suddenly cooler without that lithe man straddling him. Max was talking again, but the words were a blur in Flint’s head. He didn't want to know how smug Miranda must be, but he knew he would have to face her eventually. He turned. 

Miranda wasn't there. Flint looked around in confusion, before his eyes landed on her near the bar, talking to _Silver_. His confusion only increased when she returned, wearing the most pleased of expressions. 

“What the fuck was that about?” Flint asked. 

“I spoke with Max during Mr. Silver's number. And I just now confirmed it with him as well. You are to receive a private lap dance, my treat.”

Flint’s mind stalled, the image of Silver straddling him in a more private setting certainly an enticing one, though he didn't think he would be able to keep his hands to himself in such a situation. Instead, what he said was, “But it's _your_ birthday!”

“And for my birthday I would like to see you _happy_ ,” Miranda insisted. “Or at the very least, enjoying yourself while a very attractive man writhes in your lap. Go on, James, I'll be fine.”

As she said it, her eyes flickered appreciatively to the stage, where a well-built tattooed man with long, partially-braided hair was stripping to “You're so vain.” 

Flint stood there another moment, desire and curiosity warring with worry. Curiosity won out in the end. Flint moved towards the curtained alcove Miranda had indicated, trepidation and excitement thrumming in his veins. 

The tiny room was illuminated with soft lighting. The only furnishing was a couch—Flint’s throat felt suddenly dry when he laid eyes upon it, but he took a seat. He was half-hard in his jeans, still keyed up from earlier. Miranda had spoken to both Max _and_ Silver. What did that mean?

He didn't have time to contemplate that fully, as the curtains parted to admit Silver. He'd lost his boots, opting for bare feet, but other than that his attire remained the same since he had straddled Flint’s lap. That is, his lack of attire. Flint’s eyes skittered over the crotchless (and assless) leather pants. He wouldn’t dwell on how long it had been since he’d had another man’s cock in his mouth, or he’d end up falling to his knees here and now, and he was pretty sure the idea was for Silver to perform for _him_. As his eyes dragged back up Silver’s body, they met his keen smirk, as if Silver knew exactly what he’d been thinking. The air felt close all of the sudden, and Flint took a steadying breath.

“Like what you see?” Silver asked. 

Any sarcastic replies died on Flint’s tongue. “Yes,” he said, honestly, unashamedly.

Something flickered in Silver’s face, the same look that had been there earlier when his song had ended. It was almost...unguarded. Like a glimpse of the man beneath the performer. Silver moved forward, closing the distance between them until his legs touched the edge of the couch.

“Do you know why I singled you out?” Silver asked, setting first one knee and then the other onto the couch, bracing himself on either side of Flint’s legs.

“Why?”

Silver leaned forward, one arm going to the back of the couch as he swayed his body with the distant music. “Most guys that come in here, they’re dragged here by their female friends. And those guys, almost all of them are uncomfortable, never looking at the stage. The ones that aren’t—they tend to be louder than the bachelorette parties we get. But _you_. From the moment I appeared on stage, you looked at me like we were the only ones in the room.”

Flint let out a ragged breath, Silver’s proximity intoxicating. This close, he couldn’t help but notice the blue of his eyes, the beads of sweat on his forehead, the heady smell of whatever conditioner he used in his hair. The glint of silver on his tongue when he spoke. He was beautiful, yes, but there was something more to his allure, something Flint longed to know better. His hands twitched beside him on the couch.

“Now,” Silver said, his voice going gravelly as it dropped lower, “I can’t help but notice we’re the only ones in the room.” Between them, he rolled his hips, and though nothing had come into contact Flint found himself letting out a small gasp. Silver leaned closer, his breath hot in Flint’s ear as he said, “It’s okay if you want to touch.”

Flint’s breath caught in his throat, and he looked askance at Silver, not sure if he was truly being granted permission. Silver gave a nod, and Flint realized with a small jolt that there was true _want_ reflected in his eyes. Cautiously, Flint rested his hands on Silver’s thighs, as though the leather might burn the pads of his fingertips. Silver let out a soft moan, rolling his hips again and bearing down until he came into contact with Flint’s hips.

Flint grunted, his grip going tighter for a moment, then relaxing. The pressure in his jeans was mounting, but he could hardly believe this was happening. He rubbed his hands up and down Silver’s thighs in encouragement, answering Silver’s moan with one of his own. His hands moved up, touching lightly at the tattoo designs that curved up from Silver’s waistband. He had been mistaken earlier about their design, he realized.

“They’re leaves,” Flint murmured. “Baroque leaves.” 

He didn’t know why, but that detail stood out in his mind, made him wonder about what kind of person Silver was. If they might be drawn together under different circumstances, but he pushed those thoughts from his mind. Flint brought his hands up Silver’s chest, fingertips brushing over his pierced nipples, giving the gentlest of tugs on the chains, and reveling in the way Silver’s breath hitched. 

SIlver continued to make encouraging noises as Flint brought his hands to Silver’s sides, his back. Then lower, lower, until Flint’s hands finally settled at Silver’s bare ass, gripping down and encouraging his movements. Silver keened, grinding his hips harder into Flint’s. 

“ _God_ ,” Silver groaned, pressing their foreheads together, “I’ve been thinking about this since I first laid eyes on you. You looking at me, like— _ah_ —like _that_. Hoping...I’d get the chance to take you back here. Straddle your lap. Fuck your mouth with my tongue. Maybe even— _ngh_ —let you pull aside my thong so you could fuck me.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Flint uttered, the mental images that evoked sending heat surging through his body. He held onto Silver almost desperately, feeling as though he was reeling, careening towards some end, unsure if he ought to be frightened or not. 

They were so close, foreheads pressed together, their breaths mingling. Silver’s blue eyes held that unguarded quality from before, and his tongue flicked out, tentative. Flint took a shuddering breath as Silver’s face angled towards his. Silver’s lips were surprisingly soft as they dragged against his mouth, and a whimper rose from Flint, unbidden. Silver gave an appreciative moan low in his throat as he pressed closer, licking forward, and Flint could feel the tongue piercing, a shock of warm metal on the inside of his mouth. 

Flint gasped, feeling his cock pulse inside his jeans. He froze, going tense, a flush of embarrassment covering his face. Silver drew back, confusion written on his features. Flint didn’t want to see the ridicule that would follow. He pushed Silver away, extricating himself as briskly as possible as he made his retreat. 

Miranda glanced over when Flint was in sight again, but he waved her off, making directly for the restrooms. Flint cleaned himself as well as he could, the dimly lit stall having a sobering effect on his libido. He shouldn't have taken it that far. Now his emotions were a confused jumble, recalling the unguarded look on Silver's face and wondering what Silver thought of him now. Nothing good, he'd wager. He remained there for several more minutes, until someone else started impatiently knocking on the door. 

\---

In the weeks since what had happened, Flint couldn't seem to stop thinking about it. Miranda had tried gently prying to find out what had happened, but all Flint would tell her was that it had been too soon. Too soon, though he'd been single now for years, to accept a lap dance from a stranger. They both knew it was a lie, but Miranda didn't question him further. 

The worst of it was, Flint couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to _know_ Silver, beyond the obvious physical and sexual attraction he felt towards the man. Which was ridiculous, he couldn't even be certain their chemistry was genuine. The club was a carefully constructed fantasy, and it was dangerous to draw back the curtain on that and hope it was something more. 

Which was why it came as a surprise to Flint when he spotted Silver one morning at his favorite bookstore. He saw a mop of dark curly hair in the aisle next to his, and had to do a double-take. The hair had been pulled up into a messy bun, he wore sweatpants and a thin patterned t-shirt, but there was no mistaking him. Flint swallowed, all the memories of that evening weeks ago standing out vividly in his mind. 

“Silver?” Flint asked, realizing immediately it was entirely probable the name had been made up. But Silver was looking up, confusion melting into recognition as he adjusted the reading glasses on the bridge of his nose. There was something else, a furrow in his brow, and Flint hoped he hadn't misstepped too badly. 

“You'll have to forgive me,” Silver said, “I haven't had the pleasure of a proper introduction.” 

He said it lightly, with an air of flirtation, but Silver raised a wry eyebrow in silent reminder of why they hadn't been properly introduced. 

“James Flint,” he said, hoping Silver could read the contrition in his tone. 

“James,” Silver said, as if testing the name. Then, in offering, “John.”

He held his hand out as he said it, and Flint took it. Silver's hand was warm, lightly calloused, and Flint found his grasp lingering. There was a quip on his tongue about his surprise that John Silver was his real name, but he was fairly certain that joke would fall flat. 

Silver cleared his throat, and Flint became aware he was still holding Silver's hand. He released it with a stammered apology, and watched as Silver readjusted the books under his arm for a better grip. It was an oddly varied assortment of books, with a volume on ornithology, a Portuguese-English dictionary, a book on Baroque architecture, and an anthology of early modern poetry. It did little to illuminate the enigma of the man before him, but Flint found himself fascinated all the same. 

“Look, I—” Flint stammered out clumsily. “I want to apologize.”

“You? _I'm_ the one who should be apologizing,” Silver said, glancing around and dropping his voice. 

“Why?”

“I made you uncomfortable,” Silver said, frowning. “I—look, I don't do that sort of thing. The dancing, yes. The striptease, yes. But I don't—I've never offered to have sex while working before. It was unprofessional and I don't blame you for beating a hasty retreat.” 

“I...that wasn't why I left,” Flint said. Silver had been worried he'd get in trouble, Flint realized. That's why he was wary. And Flint couldn't shake the casual revelation that Silver's offer had been genuine, that Flint had been a unique case.

“Then why?”

“I...got a bit ahead of myself.” At Silver's look of confusion, Flint glanced around and dropped his voice still lower. “I came too soon. From...kissing you, actually.”

Silver blinked, the play of emotions on his face shifting somewhere between astonished and flattered. He gave a tentative smile, the corner of his mouth curving upwards. “Well, then.” 

Something fluttered in Flint’s stomach. He felt again as though he was careening towards something, but this was far more daunting than the situation in the club had been. “Would you...like to get lunch sometime?”

Silver worried the side of his lip between his teeth, his brows furrowed in consideration. “One question for you,” he said finally. “Why? Was it the stripping thing?”

“No, it’s—” Flint hesitated, tried again. “Honestly, I don’t know what it is. Can you say for certain why you were drawn to me, why you made your offer? It’s possible this...this _pull_ I feel, is just physical. I think it might be more than that. But I’d like to find out, if you’re willing.”

“Yeah,” Silver said, smiling. “I’d like that.”

The cautious happiness on Silver’s face was infectious, making him appear younger. Flint found himself returning Silver’s smile. He wondered a moment when he had last felt this lighthearted. 

“So, lunch,” Silver said. “I’m free today, if you like.”

“All right. Oh, let me just—” Flint pulled out his phone, shooting Miranda a quick text. She had a standing invitation for Flint to join her on lunch breaks, but no official plans he’d be breaking. “Okay, I’m free.”

As Silver paid for his purchases, Flint felt his phone buzz in his pocket. _I see how it is. Found someone better? ;)_

She was going to be so smug when she found out the truth. 


End file.
